Picking up where Bridget Jones' reviled "smug-marrieds" left off, I became a member of an equally suspect species: the smug online dater.

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‪"If you tried online dating and hated it, you probably didn't do it right," writes Evan Marc Katz, dating coach for "strong, smart, successful women," and creator of ‬‪Finding The One Online‬‪, a six-and-a-half hour long audio guide that guarantees a "new lease on love." (The series is the jewel of Katz's San Fernando Valley-based online dating empire, which includes multiple books, podcasts, and video tutorials). While I've never been Katz's client, in the last three years I've religiously devoured his blog posts in order to appeal to the heart and mind of the Los Angeles online dating man.‬

‪Judging from my full Match.com inbox, I have indeed been doing it right. In fact, if you've ever run into me at a party in the last three years, you may have caught one of my enthusiastic how-to lectures on profile writing or how I developed my three-pronged screening process. Picking up where Bridget Jones' reviled "smug-marrieds" left off, I became a member of an equally suspect species: the smug online dater.‬

‪But even star players strike out. Last summer, after a bad run, which culminated in being stood up by Martin, a sexy animator with a string of baby mamas up the West Coast, it seemed like it was time to take a break. On my first Match-less Saturday in months I was blindsided by crying jags and existential panic. Was there such a thing as online dating withdrawal? I cringed knowing that I had let my inbox statistics become the cornerstone of my self-esteem. Maybe this break needed to be a retirement.‬

***

It takes a certain kind of woman to walk through the looking-glass of online dating. I wouldn't want you to assume that you, too, will lose a chunk of your thirties and thousands of dollars (therapy hours, clothes bought in the wake of misguided hookups...) just because you cobble together a profile.‬

‪As a professional actor for the last 15 years, my career has primed me for this level of extreme online dating. The endless grind of auditions—and trying to get them—means I'm well-practiced at barreling through serial humiliations by telling myself the game-changer is just around the corner. There's a fine line between optimism and delusion. Acting and online dating live on it.‬

But what acting didn't always give me‬—‪a sense of acceptance‬—‪online dating did. Online daters often complain of the feeling of "people shopping" on the sites. But what if you're what's on everyone's list?‬

‪In profile-land, my upscale Everywoman look‬—‪which had consigned me to the 'interesting faces' pile for film auditions (read: not the love interest)‬—‪somehow translated to tasteful glamour online. That, combined with my sassy writing style, made me catnip to attractive Type As. I ordered potential matches to obey cheeky "playground rules": no hitting, no racism, share your sandtoys, and to refrain from complaining about work. I closed with a line fed to me by my glamorous, sassy, and long-married friend: "Drop me a note if you think we have a chance at being best friends who also have great sex."‬

‪Within two days, I had over 200 messages in my inbox, teeming with photos of private jets and invitations to concerts by the bands I'd listed in my Favorite Things. I had finally found a way to become, as one suitor put it, "the belle of the ball." (See! A lead role!)‬

‪Unfortunately, this ball happened to be populated mainly by men like Ross, a law firm partner hunting for a woman who looked like his not-quite-yet-ex wife and also possessed qualities likely to get under her skin. I know the former because he admitted to finding me by putting "pale, freckles" in the Match.com search field; I suspect the latter because the first words out of his mouth after confirming I was an actress were, "Ha! My ex wanted to be an actress!"‬

‪Despite these red flags, Ross's charm got to me. But after three dates of monologues about his divorce, I asked if he had the room in his life to get to know me. He disappeared.‬

‪Still, I was undeterred. Because the main thing that kept me on the merry-go-round of Match was the fact that it worked…well, almost.‬

‪Deep in Profile 2.0 (softer, more feminine, now with anecdotes!), I met Paul, a former-musician/newly-hatched lawyer who had just relocated from New York. We reminisced about our Brooklyn neighborhoods and explored the beach towns and second-run movie theaters. He was the first man I introduced to my family in seven years. I was so relieved to have companionship that I overlooked the temper flare-ups that would send me to the next room to recover. Six months in, I finally suggested that we get counseling. This set off a volcanic-level rage that ended with his speeding away and worried questions from my neighbors. I was shaken and heart-broken, but it occurred to me that I'd written a profile that promised the fantasy of a relationship. No wonder it attracted men who couldn't handle the reality of one.‬

‪After licking my post-Paul wounds I went into profile re-writing overdrive. In version 1.0, I'd unwittingly portrayed myself as a shiny object, in 2.0, an accommodating muse. It was time to let the mask down. I spent days working on a portrait of the real me–creative, ruminative, and hopeful. In Profile 3.0. I shared my vision of the relationship I wanted ("We go slow...one of the the best parts of dating in mid-life-ishness is getting to know each other's world-in-progress"). I slipped in an "I feel" statement ("I feel most relaxed and playful when I'm with someone whose affections are consistent and whose intentions are clear"). I closed on a note of assurance to us both: "After all, we know that online dating is for thoughtful warriors." I was scared to go public with my insecurities and desires, but I was also happy to finally have the courage to reveal my tender parts.‬

‪My traffic flatlined.‬

But ‪eventually, a few suitors trickled in. And, despite the underwhelming demand, I learned to accommodate my new interest level. I met several interesting men, most of whom seemed uninterested in having a relationship, at least with me. Phone calls regularly failed to turn into first dates, first dates often failed to turn into second ones.‬

‪My would-be suitors' inconsistencies had gotten so consistent that I wondered if I could find meaning in it. Maybe the system had worked. Maybe the revisions, the books, and the diligence in getting out there finally introduced me to meet my real 'matches.' My well-meaning phone and dinner dates–like Peter, the Malibu businessman still wary from his last girlfriend's drug problem, and Richard, the writer whose abrupt phone exit was explained by a Google search revealing his life-threatening illness–didn't seem to really want to be dating. Maybe, after all that, I didn't either?‬

***

‪I tallied up my audition call-back rates and discovered they went down when I had more on my plate romantically. I was conflating dating and commercial auditioning, in particular. In both I resented the long drives, the amount of time I spent worrying about my hairstyle, and the throwing-spaghetti-against-the-wall element. As the disappointments in both love and work racked up, I became brittle and pessimistic. I stopped thinking about what I really wanted and downsized my desires to what I thought I could obtain.‬

‪Perhaps it was easier to focus on writing the perfect profile than it was over-hauling my life to meet more compatible men (not to mention making myself more emotionally available to them when I did). Those changes are a tall order, but I'm starting like this: I vow to follow through with creating more complex acting opportunities; I'll no longer let my half-finished screenplays languish on my hard drive. As for the emotional availability, I'm practicing with friends. As Being-a-Person-101 as it sounds, when they ask how I am I remind myself to tell them what I'm feeling not what I'm doing.‬

‪It's likely I'll one day return to online dating. I met interesting men and went to a ton of interesting wine bars. Or maybe I'll meet someone while I'm going about my business. I'll become aware of an attractive stranger and just, you know, toss him a winning smile. I'm getting better at that. It turns out there's actually a lot going on when you're not a slave to your inbox. Or Favorites list. Or winks. Or Like buttons. Or page views.‬